


Entertainer

by Shatterpath



Series: Ordinary People [4]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Aliens Trying To Fit In, Awkward Astra, Drinking, Gen, People helping people, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: You took the advice of getting a healthy hobby seriously, and even better? It let you people watch. This particular night the people watching was even better than usual with one particularly striking woman you're pretty sure wasn't from around here…





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOnlySPL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlySPL/gifts).



> I am having SO MUCH fun with these vignettes! This piece felt the most organic in its execution and flowed out of my brain with surprising ease. Dedicated to TheOnlySPL for both the inspiration and the look over to catch the worst of my errors. You rock, sweetie!

The gig was a peach; perfect for your skills and schedule. Oh sure, blues and jazz with a bit of big band weren't really your thing, but they were a good challenge to rub the rust off your vocal chords. So far, the couple nights a week had been manageable with your life on the blue line and provided an oasis of calm. Being a cop paid well and you love your criminology work, but it was all-consuming and stressful. 

You've finally been in the NCPD long enough to not be a rookie, hell, you'd spent the last month in the most obscure position the brass could send you to as proof you were versatile enough to be let loose. Though, you'd admit being grateful for the time with the Metahuman Task Force because your weird-shit-o-meter has been bumped up more than a few notches. Maybe it was those recent experiences that drew your eye to her. There was something in the haughty way the statuesque woman held herself, in the way she was as immovable as a boulder in the river of the crowd around her. 

That she was a bona fide stunner kept your eyes on her.

A long mane of barely restrained waves of brunette hair was half tamed back with a couple of braids at her temples, one of them with a lock of an incongruously pale color. Her features were strong, striking and the way she held her curvy frame screamed 'soldier' and 'trauma' to anyone sensitive enough to pay attention. But it was the absolute solidity of her in the throng that really caught your eye. In a throng of people, there was always movement and the lack of it made her stand out. A pretty blonde you instantly recognized as that Catco reporter that kept hounding crime scenes, materialized beside the brunette and handed her a tumbler glass of ice and amber liquid. Her look of puzzlement added to the mystery and made the blonde laugh and tap their glasses together before they both drank. Boy if the conflicted look on her face didn't scream 'never tried this before'. One more woman joined them, effortlessly melting from the crowd to tap a beer bottle to their glasses and making the blonde laugh at something she must have said. She too seems familiar, the set of her body and the straight mane of dark hair, washed with red. Ah well, if the memory was in your head, it would filter out of your subconscious at some point.

All of their body language was a morass of unease and comfort, of being drawn together but pulled apart. The drinks were clearly an attempt to bond, always a classic technique. They were a reminder to you of why people came together in places like this, so often for more than just the booze itself. 

Still amused, but with an edge of wariness, the blonde reporter took the empty glasses and bottle to head back to the bar, leaving you to watch the darker-haired women. They were ill at ease, but still drawn to one another, that much was clear. While the taller woman was as immovable as stone, the smaller one shifted with the movement of the crowd with an ease that bespoke of training and experience. Dammit, now you really wanted a better look at her face to jog your memory!

You suspected an alien and her handler of some sort; it would explain the odd body language. Maybe a Fort Rozz escapee? Though you had no damn clue how the reporter was involved. 

Andrew suddenly startled the hell out of you, poking you in the ribs with the head of his guitar as you falter in your singing, clearly distracted. Embarrassed, you get your head back in the game, but the cop part of your brain is still chewing away at the interesting mystery.

The President had signed into law all of the dispossessed aliens that had landed on US shores to be equal citizens. So it was up to the citizens to do what they could to make the newcomers welcome. As the stunner's eyes swept the crowd, you took a chance and suddenly took a small step to your right, crowding the neck of Andrew's electric guitar, and those busy eyes immediately zeroed in on the movement. Yeah, you admit it, you got a thrill from those nervous eyes pausing, the tightness around them easing a fraction when you smiled warmly. Honestly, she looked more than a little surprised, going so far as tilting her head in puzzlement. Yep, definitely someone not accustomed to feeling welcomed.

Abruptly, she startled and whipped around fast enough to almost blur, and the leer of the drunk in her personal space abruptly became a mask of agony. She dropped the handsy drunk with a grip on his wandering hand that had him screaming. "You will remove this from my person," she snarled and a convenient hole in the crowd opened for her to flick him into as though he was little more than an insect. The scumbag scrambled away and scattered applause broke out. Yes, part of you knew that perhaps you should be concerned for the man with the undoubtedly broken hand, but you found yourself laughing instead. When her eyes met yours again, your smile was as broad as it gets, straining at your cheeks. Delighted with this weird encounter, you toss out a flirtatious wink, hardly caring that your merriment was making your voice warble around the serious strains of 'Embraceable You'. The ghosts of the Gershwins and Ella Fitzgerald would forgive your sacrilege under the circumstances. 

Figuring the entertainment was over, you refocused on the music, losing yourself in the pure joy of it. After an hour or so, everyone needed a break and once again Andrew made you jump from a prod in the side. 

"Dammit, An…"

You'd lost track of the beauty in the crowd and were startled to find her at the foot of the stage, peering up at you with clear curiosity. Now, normally, that intense of a stare from a gorgeous babe would have you flustered as hell-- and well, you were a bit flustered as hell, but crouched down anyway. For a long moment, she silently debated with herself before carefully setting just two fingers against your forearm; a light, solid touch. "Thank you," she said clearly, pronunciation as formal and exact as you'd expect for a second language. The simple words could mean a variety of things, but you decided to take them at face value and not overthink the strange encounter with her. 

"You're very welcome."

Her unexpected smile was thanks enough.


End file.
